Celebrate the new dark ages.

Last night it hit me. A cold wave washed over me. I knew it was happening again. It wrapped around me and pulled me under. I struggled for a bit, but ultimately gave in and went under. It felt familiar. I know this. I embrace it. It is my friend.


I’ve learned to wear my wounds with pride. I’m not exactly proud of my past, but I do not regret a minute of it. I wear my pain and suffering like a badge of honor as a constant reminder to not set myself up because I will fall again. That’s life I suppose. Every artist needs a tragedy. We all need to suffer to be alive. It keeps us grounded.

I won’t be down for long. Tomorrow I’ll probably happy again.

Part of me doesn’t want that.

If I think

Today could go either way. I went to bad sad and woke up sad. Not for any reason, I just did. I’m human and get moody sometimes.


Still wondering about tonight, still wondering about a lot of things really. Still wondering about friends who don’t know what’s going on and wondering about the ones who do. Questions, everyone has questions. I remain guarded in my answers. Some take the hint, some don’t. I don’t get mad. They just care about me and don’t want to see me hurt again, and well, me too.

I remain cautiously optimistic though. If anything, I met someone amazing and for the time being, I am happy (but still wondering).

We need air. No allegiance to the queen.

When my parents divorced we moved into a house with another family. My mother had no concept of working or paying rent. We moved into one of the bedrooms. My sister had a bed. I had to share a bed with my mom. She would get drunk before bed. She would pull me to her and put my head on her breast. She would rub her hands all over me. She would put her hands on my underwear and rub while whispering to me “You’ll never leave me.” I hated it. I hated her. I hated myself for letting this happen. After a year I finally told her to stop and started sleeping on the floor. She said I just wanted to get away so I could jerk off like my father. I was ten. I had no idea what she meant. We finally moved out. I had my own room, but it became a prison cell. I wasn’t allowed to leave that room unless I had to go to the bathroom, eat or go to school. At three o’clock in the afternoon I had to be in my room. I couldn’t have friends or phone calls. All I had was a little black and white TV, a record player and my books. Those were my escape. I would with TV and pretend I was part of those happy families. I was the characters in the books I read. I was the singer on the records I listened to.

Sunday morning. Everyday is Sunday.

Sitting on the couch typing, the girls are still asleep on the floor. I’m out of coffee and I’m waiting for them to wake up so we can go buy some.  I’m thinking of one person who has become rather special to me and trying to think of a way to help another. I keep telling myself to turn my brain off and have fun, but I can’t. I always analyze everything, every word anyone says to me looking for some hidden meaning.

That’s a problem; sometimes it stops me from taking chances and experiencing life to its fullest. I need to learn how to stop and enjoy something. I’m scared. I’ve been burned so many times in the past that it stops me sometimes.

 This time is different. She wants to go slow. I like that. I want to get to know her. I want to learn about her life. I want her to learn about mine. I want to share things with her, to slowly become part of my life. Will it happen? Only time will tell.

The girls go home tonight. I have a date with her on Tuesday. After that nothing, no plans till the first of May. I’ve gotten used to doing something on the weekends, a dinner with a friend or a visit to my sisters. I’ve learned to keep myself busy. I hated wallowing in self pity and I won’t allow myself to do that anymore. The truth is, I’ve been feeling pretty good about myself as of late. I’m dating a beautiful, interesting woman, my boss has eased up on the yelling and I get to see my girls more then ever.

Sometimes, life ain’t so bad. 

Coffee, books and cigarettes

So I went on a date. It was my first date in over twelve years. I had a blast, and I hope she did too. She has the most beautiful blue eye’s I’ve ever seen, with the exception of my own of course. I won’t go into details, but here’s a brief summary.




1. Get lost on the way there.

2. Two phone calls later I arrive.

3. One quick hug. (felt great by the way)

4. Question of what we should do.

5. Trip to a book store for coffee and books.

6. Phones explode with text from friends

7. An emergency call from one of her friends.

8. French toast for dinner.

9. Gasoline and cigarettes.

10. Back to her house.

11. Brief tour of the house.

12. I meet the pets.

13. A quick kiss and agree on a second date.

14. Walk to car and another quick kiss, she runs back inside.

15. 45 minutes to find a parking space.



I like her, I really do and I hope we can have some sort of future together, as friends, as a couple or whatever. I am happy just to know her.

Spring cleaning

All the blankets I own are the ones my dad wrapped around himself when he killed himself. All of my towels were his. I still have all his knick-knacks. I have a few of his books and CD’s. Most of it sits in boxes in what should be my dinning room. It takes up space. Every time I see the boxes I remember being a kid and hiding in my bedroom while my parents fought drunkenly. Some of it is things they would throw at each other. Each item is a painful memory. I can’t seem to get rid of it. It’s like it has a weird hold on me. It all has to go. I have to throw it all away. One blanket has three small spots of blood on it. That’s the one I sleep with.

Tomorrow around 8-8:30, it goes. All of it. Until I get more blankets, I’ll use a sleeping bag.  The sheets and pillow cases belonged to my ex. I think I’ll get rid of them too 

New day rising.

I’m tired of hiding in the cracks. I’m tired of being cynical. I want to trust in something or someone again.


Last night I had a long conversation with someone. We talked about my life, everything I’ve gone through good and bad. She told me I should think about volunteering my time with kids who had experiences similar to mine. She’s right; I have come a long way. I may not have the best job in the world or a lot of money, but damn it, I am still here. I never gave up. I came close a couple times, but I’ve never let adversity get me down for too long. I’ve had a lot of bad shit happen to me. I either soaked it in or let it roll off of me.

I’ve never actually felt important. I figured no one wants to hear my dumb stories. That no one really cares. That’s changing. It’s weird, but she makes me feel important. This morning I plan on looking into different groups and see if I can help in one way or another.



Thank you for that call.